


Behind Frenemy Lines: Adventures in Relativity

by morticiamom



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexuality, Demisexuality, Kinky, Multi, OT3, rating for cussing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morticiamom/pseuds/morticiamom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are certain truths Tony Stark knew about the Universe: entropy always increased, light traveled at 299, 792, 458 m/s, and the acceleration due to gravity was 9.8 m/s2. . </p><p>Other truths, just as immutable, were that Steve Rogers was a hero, yes, but also arrogant, and clueless, with a stick up his ass, and that he himself, Tony Stark, was an asshole. Tony deemed it about as unlikely  that any evidence would be forthcoming that would prove either of them otherwise as that the speed of light would suddenly start to be a variable. </p><p>The problem is, that Steve keeps refusing to conform.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of The End

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Mediavengers mini-bang. This story was inspired by this post: http://mediavengers.com/image/57847027496
> 
> Amazing artwork is [ here:](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1095231)  
> (I love the expressions on the faces.) It goes with chapter 3.
> 
> Beta-ed with superhero levels of patience by the inimitable Shiplizard.
> 
> Events to comic canon Winter Soldier obliquely referred to -- no real spoilers.

There are certain truths Tony Stark knew about the Universe: entropy always increased, light traveled at 299, 792, 458 m/s, and the acceleration due to gravity was 9.8 m/s2.

 

Other truths, just as immutable, were that Steve Rogers was a hero, yes, but also arrogant, and clueless, with a stick up his ass, and that he himself, Tony Stark, was an asshole. Tony deemed it about as unlikely  that any evidence would be forthcoming that would prove either of them otherwise as that the speed of light would suddenly start to be a variable.

 

They’d parted civilly enough after the battle of New York, but they’d gone their separate ways -- Rogers moving to DC to become SHIELD’s pet super hero.  Every conversation he’d had with the man since, was Rogers badgering him about one thing or another on their behalf, and the dislike came oozing back. It wasn’t back up to Loki-augmented levels, but Loki hadn’t had to bake that dish from scratch; the pre-packaged mix was already there, courtesy of one Howard Stark. Tony'd had to listen to hours of drunken ramblings about how great Rogers was. The ramblings weren't aimed at Tony -- Howard hadn't even known Tony was there most of the time.

 

Barring not seeing Rogers at all, seeing him only at rare, SHIELD mandated intervals was the next best thing. So Tony was a little rattled when he’d arrived back at Stark tower from an evening out with Pepper, to have JARVIS inform him that the clueless loser in question was there, waiting for him.  He really didn’t want to face SHIELD’s demands, or censure, or whatever other bullshit they had in mind right now.  He didn’t bother to shove down the surge of irritation. A small part of him recognized that the constant anger he nursed toward  Rogers wasn’t entirely rational, but only a small part. Sure, it was wrong to blame the messenger if you didn’t like the message, but the messenger chose to deliver it, and probably liked doing it, so...

 

Jerking at his tie to loosen, then pull it completely off, Tony strode over to room in which Jarvis had sequestered the guy.  Pepper clicked along with him, gorgeous and fierce in her form skimming Dolce dress and Jimmy Choos. Tony didn’t bother to suppress the small smile of smug pride that such a woman chose to be with him, and not some blond meatball with shoulders like Atlas, and abs you could break rocks on -- of course, she hadn’t actually met the meatball in question yet. Still, he didn’t bother to wipe the smirk off before he pushed open the door, allowing Pepper to enter before him. He trusted her taste, after all.

 

It was a conference room, a basic one, not too fancy -- good enough for press conferences, not for management meetings. The carpet had a subdued beige pattern, the  walls gleamed white, the furniture wore well, but was strictly utilitarian. Tony hoped Rogers hadn’t been waiting here in this amenity-less room for long. No, scratch that, he didn’t care. The room was dim, the only light coming in from the lobby behind him. Tony frowned and pressed the pad to bring the lights up.

 

“What’s up, Capsicle? Pretty sure they had electric lights, even in your day.” Tony stopped, finally realized that Captain America -- no, just Steve Rogers; this guy was in jeans, not a spangle to be seen --  had been sitting alone in the dark with his face in his hands. Tony could only stare for the moment, as Rogers lifted his face, at the completely unCap-like expression. He looked...like he’d had a really crappy few days.

 

Pepper pushed past Tony, not waiting for an introduction, Rogers, ever goody-two-shoes polite, rose as she approached. Pepper stopped in front of him, and reached out to touch his arm. Her voice and face, soft with concern.

 

“Captain Rogers, are you alright?” There was a small twitch at the corner of Rogers’s face, as he tried to smile, and Tony could practically feel him trying to force the words, “I’m fine”, out of his mouth. He failed. He could only raise those bruised looking eyes to Tony, then drop them back to Pepper, and shake his head, wordlessly.

 

Tony suddenly found his ability to function, and that meant the talking started up again.

 

“Okay. Pepper, this is Captain Steve Rogers, elsewise known as Captain America, erstwhile Capsicle…” That last addition earned him a stealthy stiletto heel on the instep -- not stealthy enough to avoid Rogers’s notice though. Tony glared at him as he danced in place, daring Rogers to say anything. All he got was a raised eyebrow.

 

“Ow, Pep. Watch the shoes. Rogers, this is Ms. Virginia Potts, aka Pepper, aka CEO of Stark Enterprises, aka significant other of the billionaire genius, no longer playboy, philanthropist Tony Stark, aka the most amazing woman on this or any other planet.”

 

“Well, she’d have to be wouldn’t she?” Rogers muttered, then grasped Pepper’s outstretched hand and gave it a shake, meeting her eyes.

 

“It’s a pleasure, Ms. Potts. Call me Steve.” He managed to muster up a little smile, though it dropped off his face before it could reach his eyes. Tony was glad someone had handed Captain van Winkle a clue about how modern women were likely to react to either “Miss,” or “Ma’am”. He hoped it was Romanoff, and that she’d done it forcefully, or better yet, surgically.

 

“Likewise, Steve. And it’s Pepper.” They looked too charmed with each other, time to break it up.

 

“I suppose you’d better come upstairs, say what you’re here to say.” Tony broke in. Not that he cared if the guy was comfortable, it was just so that Tony could yell if he felt the need to, without alarming the cleaning staff.

 

“Is there someplace you want me to store these in the meantime?” Rogers gestured at a pair of black duffle bags tucked under the conference table.

 

“Depends. What’s in ‘em?”

 

“Everything I own.”   Tony snorted, and arched an eyebrow.

 

“Why, Cap! America’s sweetheart running away from home?”

 

“Home.” Rogers huffed out a sigh, and shoved his hands in his pockets, as he studied the carpet. He looked to be biting at the inside of his own cheek. Tony was cooking up a sarcastic comment about his tongue-tied state when Rogers suddenly spoke.

“I left SHIELD. I...didn’t...couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

 

Tony just stared at him as he shoehorned new information into his worldview. Rogers looked back, eyes steady, expression neutral, as if it made no difference to him what Tony said.

 

“Huh. I guess you’d better bring them with, then.” Rogers nodded, and shouldered one, taking the other in his hand.

 

“Can I help?” He didn’t really want to, he just didn’t want to be a complete dick in front of Pepper.

 

“Naw. There’s a lotta books and other heavy things.” The Brooklyn accent,  usually only noticeable if one knew it was there, laid heavy on his words today, as if he were too tired, or too out of give-a-fucks, to cover it.

 

“You know, there’re such things as e-readers." Tony pointed out, not bothering to hide his condescension, as he gestured them toward the elevator. "You don’t have to tote around stacks of hide bound paper.”

 

“I know, I have one." Steve's voice remained equable, his temper not rising to Tony's lure this time. He followed along obediently. "And a lot of the classics are public domain so you can download them free, but e-readers don’t really work for art books.”

 

“Oh, you like art books?” Pepper asked, perking up, having to look up at him as she walked, even in her heels.

 

“Yeah, I was studying art at Cooper Union, in a life drawing class actually, when I heard about the bombing of Pearl Harbor.”

 

“Oh, my goodness, I’d love to hear that story ...someday when you’re not so tired,” she added.

 

“Not much to it, other than my friend Bucky signed up for the class, though he could barely draw a stick figure, to get a look at a naked woman.” Rogers expression suddenly clenched as if he were in ferocious pain, and he turned his face away.

 

Pepper, cast a concerned look at Tony, who shrugged. Pepper didn’t say anything, just silently led the way to the private elevator, and they filed in.

 

“May I ask, Captain,” Pepper spoke up once the doors closed, “What led to this rupture with SHIELD?”  Rogers sighed.

 

“Can't trust them anymore. There are so many reasons, it’s hard to pick one to start with.”

 

“Maybe start with the straw that broke the camel’s back?” Tony suggested looking at his cuticles, as if he really didn’t care.

 

There was a particularly charged silence, Tony looked up to see Pepper looking at Steve, as he gazed between her and Tony, as if weighing what to say. Rogers took a deep breath.

 

“Coulson’s alive.”

 

Pepper’s only verbal reaction was a soft, “Oh, my God,” but she reached out and grabbed his arm in a painful grip.

 

“Son of a bitch!” Tony spit out, fury with Fury -- hah! See what his brain did there? -- rising up in him. He turned to aim a punch at the elevator wall beside him, only to find his hand blocked by a super soldier palm before he could hurt himself. He looked up into blue eyes that were filled with grim understanding, and lowered his hand.

 

“Son of a bitch,” he repeated in a soft breath out, looking right into those eyes. Rogers nodded at him, then closed his eyes and slumped back against the elevator wall, as if he’d just lain down a burden at the end of a long trek.

 

Tony looked at Pepper, seeing the battle of emotions in her face, and gathered her close in his arm.

 

“You’re staying here.” He offered Rogers, well, more like ordered really. Pepper made a soft approving sound, so he figured he was safe there. He spared a look over at Rogers, and had to look away from the naked gratitude there.

 

“Are you sure? I mean, I’m not gonna ask if you have the room, because that’d be dumb, but are you sure?”

 

Tony shrugged elaborately, tried to wave off any gratitude.

 

“Sure, I’m sure. You think I’m gonna pass up a chance to piss off SHIELD?”

Steve chuckled softly.

 

“No, I guess not.” A pause, then a softly murmured, “thanks, Stark.”

 

“ ‘Tony’, people who live here have to call me Tony,” he shrugged again.

 

“Then it’s Steve,” he huffed out a tired chuckle, “Or whatever. You’ll call me whatever you want, but now you have permission.”

 

“Way to take all the fun out of it, Steve,”  He snarked. He got a sidelong glance and a twist of the lips in return.

 

“I am a tactical genius, they say.” Tony was almost glad to see a little of the old Captain Righteousness fire back in Steve’s eyes, but it had dimmed by the time the elevator reached the penthouse. Tony absolutely didn’t sigh.

 

Pepper took charge of getting Capsicle set up in a guest room, where he wanted nothing more than to collapse into unconsciousness for a few hours. She rejoined Tony  just in time for a little judicious hacking of SHIELD’s system. She lightly smacked his arm in disapproval, but did not look away when he and Jarvis accessed the little bug he’d placed on SHIELD’s secure server.

 

One careful search later, and Tony had a clearer picture of the events  that led to Rogers leaving SHIELD, and those events revolved around one James Buchanan Barnes, and what SHIELD knew, when they knew it, and things they didn’t bother to tell Rogers . Pepper made a small, distressed sound, and Tony couldn’t imagine what a kick in the head that was to Steve.

 

“He had so little left,  so little to trust, and now…” Pepper’s soft words trailed off. Tony put his arm around her, and chewed his lip. He resolved to be extra gentle in his teasing for a while. Not because he cared, really --Tony made sure to tell himself -- but because this Steve was much edgier. This Steve might not wait for him to put on the suit before going a few rounds.

 


	2. R-E-S-P-E-C-T

A couple of weeks later, and Tony had reason to regret his generosity -- or his over-willingness to piss off SHIELD -- whatever you wanted to call it. He very quickly got tired of the brooding presence of the super soldier. The worst part was how hard Rogers tried to perk up when people were around. Tony couldn’t stand that stiff upper lip crap. A nice brittle facade of cheer covering cynicism and a complete lack of faith in humanity was fine, but that ‘don’t want to be a bother’ brave little soldier smile to cover a broken heart had to go.

 

Tony was gearing up to be an insensitive asshole on purpose, rather than just the normal, damaged man-child, accidental asshole he usually was, to make soldier boy call the roommate thing quits, when Stark tower was attacked.

 

JARVIS gave Tony a running commentary as Tony called up his new armor. A group invaded the lobby, pulling guns from briefcases, another group poured out of a truck with assault weapons  and overran the loading dock. These groups seemed to be hired mercs, there to clear the way for yet another group, the real strike team.

 

This smaller team entered the building on the assault teams heels, were lightly armed, carried tool bags, and moved quickly into the bowels on the building. Their target appeared to be the private server that held Tony’s personal programs -- including the latest suit schematics -- and JARVIS. Whoever the assault teams were, they were using what looked like broken, and clunkily repaired Chitauri weapons. Tony cared about his employees, he really did -- it only made business sense after all -- but he had to protect JARVIS. If JARVIS was infiltrated, everyone in the building was in double danger, with no Iron Man to protect them -- or worse yet, Iron Man attacking them. The logic was clear, but that didn’t mean Tony wouldn’t be forever haunted by the cries of the people who’d left home for a regular day at work, only to be faced with death, simply because they were in some assholes’ way.

 

Tony fought his way through the ‘space gun’ wielding main assault until he could get to the team aiming for JARVIS. He ruthlessly put down the last of the toolkit brigade with a repulsor blast to the face, then  paused for a moment.

 

“What’s the tactical situation in the rest of the building, JARVIS; where are the other baddies?”

 

“Captain Rogers just finished off the last of them, sir.” Tony blinked. He thought there’d been a couple of dozen at least, he’d have to watch the security footage to see how Cap had done it.

 

“Okay, that’s good.” He took a deep breath, and braced himself.

“What’s the casualty count?”

 

“Besides the attackers who are all either injured or dead, some dozen SI employees were injured, sir, two seriously. No deaths among them. First aid is being applied. Emergency services are arriving now; Captain Rogers and Ms. Potts are coordinating.”

 

Tony slumped back against the wall, and just let himself breathe for a moment, feeling waves of relief wash over him.  Tony put his game face on, pushing the panic over what could have happened ( _would_ have happened if he didn't have a resident super soldier) deep into a mental box, and went to help his people.

 

Maybe he could let Cap hang around and brood a little longer.


	3. Can I Give You a Shine?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for fridging Mrs. Arbogast -- I assure you she led a long and full life. She's awesome. I heartily recommend that people check out the Iron Man comic where she was hired.

It should’ve helped knowing that Mrs. Arbogast spent her last years a wealthy woman, able to do what she wanted because of him. And it did. It did, but there was still lingering guilt whether she’d really wanted to keep working for him, or felt that he was too much of a train wreck for her to leave.

 

She’d told him she wanted to keep working, when she informed him of her diagnosis, and he’d allowed it -- his only condition that she take as much time off as she needed, both when her health demanded it, and when she wanted to.  She’d taken him at his word, and in addition to caring for herself, she’d used her wealth to take frequent, exotic and luxurious vacations. Whatever the reason for her time off, she always came back, seemingly happily, until the last time...when she didn’t. Perhaps he should have done more, assured her he’d be alright without her, made sure she didn’t feel any obligation.

 

He realized he’d been sitting for an unknown amount of time, staring at the newspaper, his eyes aimed at, but not really seeing, the  front page of the Business section, above-the-fold obituary of Bambi Arbogast -- one time secretary to, and most recently wealthy business partner of Tony Stark. He was supposed to be getting ready for her funeral, but his mind had derailed, and he was just sitting there, numb, with one of the pair of shoes that he’d wanted to wear to her funeral in his hand, too muddy and splashed to be respectable.

 

He’d been wearing them on his date with Pepper -- the wonderful one where he’d asked and she’d accepted -- and they’d run, like giddy teenagers, taking a short cut across a section of Central Park to avoid some paparazzi, only to be met by Jarvis with the news about Bambi when they’d gotten back to the tower. He’d kicked the shoes off in angry denial, and they’d lain neglected under the sofa since.

 

Now, the shoes that were Mrs. Arbogast’s favorites on him, were too grimy to be decent, on the one day he promised her he’d wear them. She’d been laughing when she asked him, and he’d been laughing when he promised, because it seemed so far away, and something would surely happen between then and now, some cure would be found, and now…

 

She was dead, it’s not like she’d know. Sure, he’d know, but he was an asshole, what did he care? And he was not going to fucking cry over a God damned shoe, God damn it!

 

“Is something wrong, Tony? Is there anything I can do?”  Oh great, here he was again. He’d been Captain Supportive, since Pepper had told him. Tony turned a blank face to him, trying to hide the irrational anger that was welling up in him. Steve Perfect Rogers would never have to break a promise to one of the finest people never to have gone along with his bullshit, but treated him like she knew he was doing the best he could at that particular moment, and made him want to do better, and meanwhile she’d pick up the slack, because he’d forgotten to take care of his damned shoes.

 

“No, Nothing. Everything's fine.” The denial was reflexive. “I've got shoes, plenty of them. I don't need these shoes...” Tony looked down at them, as if they’d betrayed him. Okay, he needed to shut up now. Too late -- Steve's attention was drawn to the shoes in his hand.

 

“Oh, those are snappy.” Snappy? Who says that?  Living fossil super soldiers who can’t be bothered to have human failings, that’s who.

 

“Need cleaning and polishing though, if you want to wear them.” Oh really, Captain Obvious? Tony bit his tongue, and turned a look of strained patience on the other man. He was getting ready for the funeral one of the finest people that ever put up with him, but by all means, he’d stop to hear what inanity Spangles had to spout.

 

“I can take care of that for you.” The voice was gently concerned, but matter of fact.  “Come on.”

 

Wait. What? Steve had his big mitt wrapped around Tony's elbow and was guiding him to his own room, as Tony was still  trying to process.

 

“Here, sit on the couch, and put the shoes on, I'll be right back.” Tony obeyed, bemused.

 

“Hey! Wait!” He called at Rogers’s retreating back, his brain finally back in real time.

 

“You don't have to do this, I've got scads of shoes. Didn’t I say that already? I’m pretty sure I said that. I’ve got piles of shoes; I'm a regular Imeld...a person you've never heard of.” He trailed off as Steve came back into the room.  He saw no sign of the  pursed-lipped  glare of disapproval that Tony had gotten used to during Steve’s SHIELD mandated visits, the seeming righteous anger that was a cover for his own cluelessness; the face  he looked at was warmer.  There was a bit of amusement there, but more sympathy.

 

“Sounds like an interesting one to know, though; I'll Google it later,” Steve said, settling in front of Tony with an honest-to-crap shoeshine box, complete with tilted foot rest on the lid.

 

“I didn't even tell you the whole name, how are you going to Google it?”

 

“I bet if I put in 'shoes' and 'Imeld...' Google will do the rest,” Steve’s gaze challenged, but  was still gently amused. Tony huffed, unable to disagree (and when did Capsicle figure out web search strategies and  autocomplete?) as Steve opened the lid of his box and pulled out shoe care supplies. He knelt at Tony's feet – and that was a sight Tony didn't know how to deal with. A warm hand on Tony's calf guided his foot onto the support, and wobbled his world on its axis.

 

“A shoeshine box?” Tony scoffed, seeking stability in snark. “Are you kidding?”

 

“Rosewood, with brass fittings.” Rogers chuckled, and shook his head. “I found it on a website, and couldn't resist. I had one when I was a kid -- not like this though -- I knocked one together from old apple boxes to make a few nickels to help Ma out.” He shook his head again. “Rosewood,” he muttered.

 

“Shining shoes for nickels? Did we dig you up out of the ice, or a damned Dickens novel?” Rogers didn’t look up, but began brushing dried mud off the shoes.

 

“If that bothers you, I probably shouldn't tell you about the time I played Tiny Tim in the parish Christmas pageant, then, huh?” Rogers looked sideways up at Tony, tiny smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. “I was six, and so pale and thin, people weren't sure I'd live through that Winter. I'm told there wasn't a dry eye in the house.” Tony's jaw dropped in mock horror at the image.

 

“Oh, Jesus.”

 

Rogers grinned, that asshole, and began with leather balm on a soft cloth to work at the water spots on the leather.

 

Steve lifted his gaze to meet Tony’s straight on, widened his eyes, and made his damned eyelashes grow even longer somehow – Tony would’ve sworn to it – and assumed an expression of painfully earnest innocence -- more painfully earnest than usual that is.

 

“And God bless us all, every one.”

 

“Oh God! Please, stop. It hurts.” And Steve laughed at him as he turned his attention back to the shoes.

 

Tony just sat there after that, long, silent, but somehow not awkward minutes, letting Steve clean and polish the first shoe, then moved his foot, so Steve could start on the second one. Steve’s hands were quick, competent, practiced, and Tony had always found competence  attractive, even at shining shoes. Between that and the general absent mindedness of the past couple of days he lost himself in a gentle melancholic reverie, watching, as Rogers seemed to lose himself in the doing. Suddenly, it seemed, Rogers was done, and patted Tony’s calf to call him out of his half trance.

 

“There you go. All respectable again.” That got him a snort from Tony.

 

“Huh. It looks really good.” Tony turned the shoe this way and that to admire the shine. “They look better than they did before they were messed up.”

 

“Well, I couldn't compete with the bigger guys for the really profitable corners, so I tried to make sure any customers I got would be willing to walk a little bit out of the way to find me the next time.” His voice was soft, distant; he was lost in a memory, not giving a sermon. He snapped out of it, and smiled at Tony.

 

“These are really nice shoes. Classy. Good quality leather, nice finishing, insoles stitched, not glued...”

 

“Of course they're nice, they're Blahn...oh never mind.” Tony was too tired to update the guy on shoe designers. Let him stay clueless.

 

“They were her favorites.” He hadn’t meant to let that slip, he did not want to see any super soldier pity flung his way.

 

“Bet you still paid too much for them, though.” Tony opened his mouth to gasp in mock outrage.

 

“Billionaire.” Tony protested, as he drew a finger circle around his face. “There is no 'paid too much'.”

 

“Sure, Tony, whatever you say.” Steve arched, to stretch his back, sitting back on his heel, and one knee.  Tony stood, and looked down at his now eminently wearable shoes.

 

“So what do I do now, tip you? Pretty sure I don't have any nickels, or does the Rosewood box cost extra?”

 

“No, Tony, friends don't tip friends.” Steve spoke to him gently, as if Tony were the clueless one dealing with a world he didn't understand. Tony narrowed his eyes.

 

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

 

“Course we are, you big dope,” Steve chided with a warm expression that further perturbed the world’s orbit. Tony reached for snark, his one steady point in this shifting universe.

 

“Okay, that's nice, but you realize nobody talks like that anymore, right? 'You big dope'? That's like school playground trash talk.”

 

“Well, you know I'm not up on all this modern slang,” Steve apologized, all innocent eyes, and rueful smile. “Numbskull? Sad Sack? Galoot?” Tony just stood there, unable to believe what he was hearing.

 

“Come on, Tony. Help a guy out here. Oh, I know, Palooka!”

 

“'Palooka'?! Tell me you're screwing with me. You've got to be screwing with me.” He stared sharply at Steve's face, looking for tells. There was something there, Tony couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he'd bet a charity dinner appearance that it was there.

 

“You are, aren't you? Captain America is sassing me!” Steve's poker face didn't crack per se, as much as melt from the inside, the smile nearly visible underneath the deadpan exterior.

 

“Now why would I do that?” His voice is warm, gentle, and there’s a laugh, almost audible under the words.

 

Steve was looking up at him with that damned face, long eyelashes around blue eyes, crinkled at the corners, pupils wide with real affection, as he knelt at Tony's feet, cupping Tony's calf in a big warm hand,  hidden smile raising the temperature, and stealing all the fucking air out of the room – it must be, or else why couldn't Tony breathe?

 

Tony had no idea which way was up any more; there was nothing to grab as the rules of his emotional universe turned themselves inside out.. Steve’s face went serious, and he patted Tony’s calf twice.

 

“I know it’s gonna be hard, but you don’t want to be late, Tony. Steve said, his voice filled with fatherly care. His face fell a little. A bleaker, but no less caring expression filled it. 

 

"You'll be glad of the chance to say good-bye," he said. Tony gasped softly, like remembering a punch to the gut more than receiving one. He stared at Steve, and Steve looked back, letting the knowledge of the losses they'd both faced, without any chance to say good by flow between them. The moment drained away, and Steve stood.

 

"Pepper’s already ready. Go on," he gently steered Tony out. Bemused Tony obeyed, not realizing it until he got  to the elevator. Pepper met him there, looking strong, and together, and beautiful, and hurting; she’d valued Mrs. Arbogast every bit as much as Tony . He put his arm around her, and leaned his head against hers until the elevator doors opened.

 

“What just happened with the Capsicle?” He asked the air, or JARVIS, same thing really.

 

“It would appear that Captain Rogers shined your shoes, sir,” JARVIS answered. Pepper, eyes wide and sharp with surprise, looked at Tony, then at his shoes. "Huh," she breathed softly, as she gave said shoes her nod of impressed approval.  Tony took a deep breath and dismissed the whole incident to steel his emotions for the funeral. He’d think about the whole Capsicle issue...later.


	4. It's an Art Form

 

Obviously, the seismic shift in Tony’s world needed to be balanced somehow, things put back to rights. So, Steve must be made to remember that he was uptight clueless loser, so Tony could go back to being irritated with him.  He let the issue stew in his mind for a while, as he avoided Rogers as much as he could, now that there was no Malibu house for Tony to escape to. Sure, there was plenty of room in the tower, but Steve seemed to take the idea that they were friends seriously, and kept trying to ‘keep in touch’ or something.

 

Tony always claimed to be busy, there was always something he could be doing, for SI, for the Avengers, and then there was Pepper to spend time with, and Rogers accepted his excuses with polite regret. Finally though, he called Pepper, the rat bastard saying he wanted to be sure Tony wasn’t ‘working himself too hard, feeling like he’s got something to prove, or something.’ Pepper added her own concerns that he was going 'suit crazy' again.

 

“I’m fine, Pep. No flare up of the old anxiety. I just don’t want to play hug and cry and learn and grow with the living fossil, okay?”

 

“What’s so wrong with him? He’s perfectly nice, and obviously concerned about you.”

 

“His whole stupid face is what’s wrong, and he’s not ‘concerned about me’, he’s just acting his Captain Functional part to make the rest of us look bad.”

 

“Whatever you say, Tony.” Damn right whatever he said Tony, and you could just wipe that ‘I know you better than you know yourself’ smirk right off your face, young lady.

 

Except that when Hill tried to rake him over the coals for not turning up immediately to fight the latest megalomaniac with destroyer robots to attack SHIELD -- actually those robots were kind of cool; they didn’t destroy things, but rather disassembled them (it was if the guy had created a small army of four year old Tony Starks with built in toolkits and let them loose on SHIELD’s equipment) but that was beside the point --  Steve had jumped in at the debriefing to defend him, citing the lack of casualties, and how he, Clint, and Natasha had it handled, thank you very much, and that Tony worked himself half to death sometimes for all their sakes...that sure sounded like real caring.  Tony frowned as Clint told him about it.

 

“I don’t need Captain Chivalry to defend my honor,” he groused. Clint snorted.

 

“Hey Cap’s good, but I think that’s too big a battle even for him.”

 

“One question, Legolas: you want your next batch of exploding arrows to go off before you fire them?” Clint raised his hands in surrender, but Natasha was smirking at him. Jerks.

  
  


The urge to put a burr under that Spangly Spandex grew too strong to resist.

 

“Hey, Pep. I have an idea. You know all that artwork I have in storage? Why don’t you arrange, or arrange to have arranged, an exhibition? Let’s dedicate it to Capsicle. Heck, we can even use it as a fundraiser for whatever charity he wants, Disapproving Veterans of America, or whatever.”  

 

Yes. Perfect. Nothing like some modern art to give old Steve a coronary, and  a reason to sweat like a nun in a steam room. Pepper was eyeing him as if she was trying to figure out what he was up to. He gave her his best ‘Oh, come on. You know perfectly well what I’m up to.’ smile in return. But she didn’t take her disappointed sigh cue, coming back instead with a knowing eyebrow and a half smirk.

 

“That’s a wonderful idea, Tony. I’ll get some people on it right away, and follow up with Steve about what charities he’d like to donate to.”

 

“Oookay?” For some reason, agreeable Pepper was scary Pepper.

 

Well, at least Captain Pain-in-his-ass was predictable; he wanted the take donated to the New York Rebuilding and Recovery effort, the Wounded Warrior project, and, somewhat less predictably, to the Fresh Air Fund, which he was laughably, pathetically delighted to find was still around. He got all nostalgic about getting to go to the Fresh Air summer camp a couple of times as a kid.

 

“I couldn’t join in the more vigorous activities, but it was still great, and I could sleep, without even having to sit up.” He’d grinned at the memory, like being able to breathe at night was the biggest god-damned gift since the Hope fucking diamond. “It’s such a great thing for kids.”

 

“The kids these days are probably spending the whole time bitching about the video games they’d rather be playing,” Tony pointed out to poke a hole in that do-gooder smugness -- and to obscure the picture of a young Steve propped up, gasping in bed, sleepless in the suffocating summer heat.

 

“Oh, there might be one or two that doesn’t mind, or even have video games to miss.” Steve returned with equanimity, “and, it’s still healthy for them.” The wholesome, it burned us, Precious. Oh, hey...

 

“Cap, have you seen Lord of the Rings? You have to. JARVIS, set up _Fellowship of the Ring_. Have a seat, Steve. Watch. You’ll thank me.” He didn’t care, really, but the walking generation gap shtick was getting kind of old; gotta work on catching the guy up. And if Tony sat to watch it with him, that was just because it was a good movie, worth watching despite the company.

 

So, Pepper got the exhibit set up, and advertised, and it was a big success, and Tony listened to praise heaped on him by the same people that would flay him next week.  He smiled big and fake for their cameras, and made sure to tell them loudly and flamboyantly, that  it was all Pepper’s doing. He expressed his appreciation to her in a much quieter, and more sincere fashion afterward. Fresh Air Fund,  Wounded Warriors, and Invasion Recovery got really big donations, matched by Stark Industries, of course (What? It was a tax write off.) and Steve, who looked really good in a Lhuillier suit (he utterly refused to wear Hugo Boss -- something about the guy having designed the Nazi SS uniforms) was thrilled, as expected. Furthermore Steve absolutely fucking loved the exhibit, and that wasn’t expected.

 

“Tony, this Pollock is amazing. I only got to see photos of _Mural_ when he finished it in ‘43. I love how his technique developed, all the tension and movement.” Steve gushed, looking closely at what looked like an accident at a paint factory. Who knew that much of what was considered modern art, had actually been around in Capsicle’s time?

 

The only thing at the event that earned the Rogers Scowl of Disapproval (trademarked and pat. pend.) was Trump descending on the event as if he were the Second Coming, surrounded by his entourage of sycophants. The Donald made sure to look bored with everything.

 

“My child could do better” he pronounced, looking disdainfully at the Malevich, “If Stark paid more than a buck he got robbed,” and his little hangers-on all tittered. Tony watched as Steve’s scowl deepened, and then smoothed out, Steve pulling on a blandly pleasant expression as if he were pulling on his uniform cowl. He walked over and loomed, in that way that unerringly drew the attention of smaller people. Once people’s eyes were on him, he began to hold forth about Malevich and the Suprematist movement -- like the art student he had been, Tony reminded himself.

 

“See how the painting really makes you look at the red, at the edges?” Steve pointed out, as if explaining to children.

 

“It’s all about perception, and your mind wants to fill in what the red is part of...” he continued, and soon Trump’s posse was hanging on Steve’s every word, nodding, and really looking at the painting. Steve straightened up and met Tony’s eyes straight-faced,  but with that something that Tony’s learned to associate with sassy Steve in his glance.

 

“Of course, Stark still probably paid too much for it.”  Tony gasped in mock outrage, and drew the finger circle around his face.

 

“I know, I know,” Steve laughed. “Billionaire, there is no ‘paid too much.” And Trump’s posse laughed, and Tony smirked, because Trump didn’t have inside jokes he shared with Captain fucking America, but Tony did. Steve left the group, and headed for Tony.

 

Trump muttered something as he left, about ‘not going to stay rich if he doesn’t watch what he spends,’ and Steve turned back, but Tony put a restraining hand on Steve’s arm. Steve stopped and looked down at him, then let out a breath with a little laugh.

 

“You’re right. Asking him how much alimony he pays wouldn’t be polite to those women who had the sense to move on.” Tony shook his head at that.

 

“Defending my honor, Cap? Don’t you know that’s a lost cause?” Steve huffed out a chuckle in response.

 

“This may shock you, but I have a reputation for being too dumb to back away from a fight, no matter how hopeless.” No, Tony wasn’t shocked, he’d seen him at Stuttgart -- up against a god, wielding a magic-assed staff, completely outmatched, but not backing down an inch. At the time, Tony’d thought him ridiculous, but now the man who’d stand his ground in a hopeless battle, simply because there was no one else, and it was the right thing to do... And Tony had watched the footage that security cameras had been able to catch of Rogers taking on the mercenaries that had attacked his building -- it was as graceful and fluid as it was brutally efficient, combat as ballet. Tony wasn’t sure how he thought about the man now, but he certainly wasn’t ridiculous.

 

“I may have heard something like that.” Standing close together, they might have been the only ones in the room. In fact, Tony was a little startled when a clearing throat drew his attention to the crowd around them. Their private conversation was over.

 

Tony fake smiled, and mouthed meaningless pleasantries at the crowd around him. He thanked them insincerely when those people gushed at him about how good his taste was, how masterful his collection, how generous he was, how smart, how caring, the whole deal . Hey, compared to Trump a dead fish has taste and generosity, so he didn’t give a shit about their good opinion. But Steve, Steve was pointing Tony out to some reporter, with a look in his face like Tony was the best thing since ice boxes you didn’t have to put actual ice in, and Tony had no defense against that look, so he turned away. Another thing he’d think about later.

 


	5. The Stinky Cheese Gambit

So art hadn’t been the way to shock a former art student. Logically, Tony had to admit, he should've seen that one coming. He could be stubborn too; he’d try again. An idea struck him and the next assault in the make Cap remember he's a stick in the mud, was launched at the Maria Stark Foundation Gala. There was a private reception for the VIP guests, and if Captain Spangles didn’t qualify, who did?

 

Both Steve, wearing his army dress uniform this time, all medals and miles of shoulders,  and Pepper looked suspicious as Tony led him around by the elbow, introducing him to the rich and powerful, and once he had the Hiltons and the Aronoffs and others of that ilk gathered around them, Tony steered him toward the refreshment table. He’d had Pepper pull out all the stops with the exotic offerings, one cheese in particular, like Brie, but browner, gooier, and stinkier,  figuring it would it’d leave Steve clueless and grumpy.

 

“Here we are. Everyone dig in.” He announced, gesturing at the table.  “See anything you like, Cap?” he asked more quietly, gesturing at the table filled with foods even he'd be hard pressed to identify, with a clap on the broad shoulder.

Steve looked at the table, then back at Tony, speechless for a moment.

 

‘Haha, gotcha!’ Tony thought, and grinned wider. Steve, still speechless looked back at the table, then back at Tony again.

 

“Tony, you got Pont l ‘Eveque?” Wait. What? What's Pont whatever? Oh, the cheese.  

 

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure. Well, I had Pepper get it.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing too good for the Foundations biggest donors.” Tony nodded at the aforementioned donors, as they stood around listening.

 

“You sound like it’s rather special to you, Captain Rogers,” Pepper spoke up smoothly. “Can you tell us about it?”

 

He shrugged with downcast 'aw shucks' eyes and a tiny blush, that Tony told himself firmly were laughable. “Well, the commandoes and I were behind the lines in Normandy in ‘44, chasing down, and defusing, some Hydra booby traps in advance of the big D-day assault. One of them was under this little village, Pont l’Eveque. The blast would have taken out some of our troops, yeah, but would've taken out the whole village and everyone in it, just left a crater where the village had been. The locals were so grateful when they found out, they sat us down and poured us wine, and fed us this cheese.” Steve laughed.

 

“I would’ve refused the cheese, because it looked rotten, and smelled like…” Steve grimaced and shrugged apologetically. “Well, frankly it smelled like moldy sweat socks.”  The onlookers laughed, and Steve smiled.

 

“The cheesemaker, Bisson, his name was, I think he knew what I was thinking, and he made this big speech about how the cheese was the heart and soul of the people, looking at me the whole time with this glint in his eye, daring me. He knew I couldn’t refuse after that or it’d be a big insult. So, I took a bite...and it was the most marvelous thing I’d ever tasted.” Steve's eyes grew soft and distant as he remembered.

 

“I know the shock must have shown in my face, because Bisson and his people all laughed at me, but I didn’t care, I was eating the best cheese in the world.” There was still some of the remembered glow of that moment in Steve’s face as he turned it to Tony.

 

“And you served it tonight, knowing I’d be here. Thank you, Tony.” There was that look again, both Pepper and Steve looking at him as if he were someone thoughtful, and wonderful. Tony cleared his throat, and looked down, only just remembering not to shuffle his feet.

 

“Yeah, it's still made in the same village, by the same fami..." he cleared his throat. What did he care if the Capsicle found a thread from the past, still running through the present? "Ah, it was no big deal. I think the caterers just sent it along because it was the snobby cheese of the month,” he protested. Steve chuckled softly, and put his hand on Tony’s arm.

 

“Sure, Tony.”  Steve left to go serve himself, and Tony allowed himself to look up, only to meet more of those looks of approval. Tony grabbed himself a glass of Champagne from a passing tray, to hide his face behind.

  
Time to make a new plan. This one was a bust.


	6. Music Appreciation

Steve was definitely feeling better; not so much brooding, more singing along with the Andrews sisters as he washed dishes in the kitchen.

 

“Drinkin’ rum, and Coc-a Cola, go down Point Koomahnah…”

 

“Ah, the days when lyrics were all beautiful poetry, and the music masterful compositions…” Tony mocked after watching for a minute.  “And we have a machine that washes dishes.”

 

“Not everything back in the day was great art, Tony,” Steve rejoined, unruffled. “Sometimes songs were just to make you feel good, just like now. And I like doing them by hand; it’s meditative.”

 

“Come on, I keep feeding you the straight lines, and you’re supposed to come back with 'American Civilization is in Terminal Decline', and you’re flubbing your lines.”

 

Steve smirked patiently, if that could even be a thing.

 

“Sorry, Tony, but I can’t remember if that comes before or after ‘you darn kids get off my lawn, and take your devil music with you’.” Tony threw up his arms in mock despair.

 

“Maybe you should’ve donated some of that art exhibit money to Alzheimer's research, Capsicle.” Steve snorted, and flicked some soapy water at him, but then his face softened, and he gave Tony that soft, warm expression that made Tony feel all squirmy inside.

 

“That exhibit was really good, Tony. Thanks.” Tony waved off the gratitude.

 

“Old news. Quit living in the past. I’ll have to come up with something new.” Tony turned on his heel and left. It was imperative that he find something to remind Cap, and himself, that Steve was a hopelessly gapped stick in the mud, not a slyly funny, interesting charmer, and music was the key.

 

Tony made his plan, and it was a good one.

 

“Hey, Cap. It’s time to catch you up on modern music. Okay, truth time. I’ve got two tickets to an up-and-coming young artist, Melinda Jones, going to be at Terminal 5 on Tuesday, and Pepper can’t come. We don’t have to dress up. Can I drag you along?” The fact that Melinda was a hip hop performer, and Terminal 5 a dance club, Tony didn’t bother to tell him.

 

“Sure, Tony, I’d love to. Want to leave a little early and get some dinner before?” 

 

“Yeah. We can eat. It’s a date. Be ready to leave at 7.” And just like that the trap was set, baited. Uh, wait, 'it's a date', he'd said that? It wasn't a date. Well, better to just let it go, protesting would only draw attention to it. Yeah, didn't mean anything, that's the way to play it.

 

Tuesday came, and after fussing a bit about what to wear (hey, it's a new venue for him, got to study to impress the masses) he decided on fitted jeans, a plain black tee, and an Italian leather jacket that felt like wearable butter. He met Steve, who was wearing some sneaky jeans, they weren't tight exactly, but they showed off his legs and ass to perfection, and a plain white button down with the sleeves rolled up, showing perfectly muscled forearms. He looked edible...to ladies, Tony added mentally, and guys who were into the blond meatball type, which Tony _wasn't_ , anyway, edible to those _other_ people, and the guy probably didn't even realize it. Steve looked Tony up and down, then with a worried frown down at himself.

 

"Is this okay? I don't have anything casual that looks that good," he said as he gestured at Tony. Huh, Cap thought he looked good, that's great. No, he didn't care. Tony smirked.

"You're fine. We can't all be me." Steve snorted in response.

"Thank God," he muttered with tiny grin.

“What's that? Couldn't hear you. Gotta learn not to mumble." Tony fell in beside him, and led the way to the elevator and out. "Thanks for coming, man,” he told Steve as they walked from a surprisingly pleasant dinner and conversation at the deli to the club. “I would’ve felt silly there by myself.” See, no big deal, the show has nothing to do with you, nothing to see here, move along. Steve snorted out a chuckle. 

 

“Sure, Tony.” He shook his head. “I Googled her, you know.” The look he gave Tony was deep, and unfathomable.

 

“Uh, okay.” Agreeable Steve was almost as scary as agreeable Pepper.

 

Tony kept glancing at Steve during the performance, sure that hip hop would get, if not the full scowl, at least a frown of puzzlement and some pursed lips, especially the parts where she railed against ‘the system’, and how the government was hand and glove with big business, and how it was the Corporate States of America.  Neither one happened. Steve just watched the performer, and the dancers, rapt. He jumped up, clapped, and yelled along with everyone else at the end of it, then grabbed Tony’s hand and tugged him along.

 

Steve was polite, but inexorable, working his way through the crowd, out, and around to the where the young woman was leaving the stage. There was a sizeable crowd (who knew there was such a niche for danceable social commentary?) but Steve was a commanding presence, he wasn’t ignored when he held his hand out to her.

 

“Ms. Jones? I’m Steve Rogers. I know this may be hard to believe, but…” She stopped and stared at him.

 

“You’re him!” She interrupted. “It is you. From great grandad’s old pictures.” Steve smiled shyly.

 

“Yeah. Can I buy you a drink. I’d love to talk to you.”

 

“Yeah. Yes. I’d like that.” And just like that, he and Steve and Melinda were tucked into a table in a quiet -- ish corner. Terminal 5 was kind of an echoing cavern, but they were up off the main floor area.

 

“He didn’t talk much about the fighting, but he talked about you and the other commandoes. How with you he actually got to use his language skills. Things like how Morita had a terrible poker face, and Monty liked wine, but Jacques liked beer, and how you’d get all quiet when Peggy Carter came around, but nobody wanted to walk between your gazes, for fear they’d catch fire.” Steve snorted softly at that, but didn’t deny it. “I wish I could have known him better. Did he bore you guys with his love of French literature?”

 

“French literature? He never talked about that with us.”

 

“Huh. He said that’s why he switched languages in college.”

 

“That’s what he said?” Steve laughed.

 

“Okay. What did he tell you guys?”

 

“That the girls were prettier.” Melinda rolled her eyes as Steve chuckled, and the stories started to flow. Tony spent the evening as a third wheel, listening as Steve told story after story about Gabriel Jones to a young woman hungry for family history, and she filled Steve in about what happened with his friend after the war.

 

“Do you think he’d understand what I do?” She asked Steve.

 

“Well, about that. See Gabe didn’t get mad easy. I mean there was plenty to get mad about, when it wasn’t Hydra, or the Nazis, or Axis Sally, or crappy weather, it was army stupidity...and let me tell you, that was the worst. You expect more of the people that are supposed to have your back, you know? But there was always some paper pusher with a Napoleon complex that decided he knew better than us about what supplies we needed, or, some guy with more brass than sense trying to make a name for himself by getting the guys killed, or…” The scowl finally appeared,  “well, never mind. Thing was, Gabe could take more than any of us without a murmur, but we all waited for Gabe to get mad, because when he did, it was a thing of beauty. He’d go off on these scathing, creative, almost poetic rants.” Steve smiled at her.

 

“We lived to listen to them. We all felt better after. And what you do...it reminds me of those times. I think he’d be proud.”

 

They were both very nearly teary eyed, and exchanged a hug good night. Then Steve turned his attention to Tony, his warm, grateful attention.

 

“Melinda, this is Tony. Tony Stark, who took time out from the hundred things he’s got going on, to find out about you, and bring me here.” And then Tony got a hug from the grateful young woman, as if he were some kind of caring person. And Steve kept talking about how amazing the evening was all the way home.

 

It was as if Tony had suddenly become terrible at being an asshole.


	7. Something to Celebrate

Okay, just have to make a new plan to show Steve and himself how much of a loser Steve was. Oh, who was he kidding? Steve was a great guy, with a sly wit, real caring, smart -- okay not Tony Stark genius, but smart in a different way. And then there was the whole really-fucking-gorgeous issue, those eyes, those shoulders, that ass, and can the person who introduced Steve to blue jeans be given some sort of humanitarian award?

 

Tony sighed. He might as well admit that Steve was a good friend. And if Tony wished he could be more than that, well, that was Tony’s problem; Steve was Straighty McStraighterson from Straightsburg.

 

And that gave Tony his next wonderfully awful idea for maybe nipping this whole pining thing in the bud.

Tony made sure that Steve walked onto the common floor just in time to find Tony and Pepper holding a small celebration. He excused himself and was about to leave, when Tony grabbed his arm.

 

“Hey Cap! Just the guy I was about to call. The party wouldn’t be complete without you. Come in, join us for a toast.”

 

Tony shoved a champagne flute into his hand.

 

“Okay. What’s the occasion. Did you two run off and elope?” Pepper had been shaking her head at Tony, but Steve’s words made her chuckle.

 

“No, and don’t give him any ideas. No, Tony, we can’t fly to Vegas and get married by Elvis.”

 

“Pep, you wound me.” Tony replied, kissing her hand. “I’d insist on the chapel that did Star Wars weddings, and have us married by Obi Wan.” He turned to the bemused Steve.

 

“Today is the third anniversary of the repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell -- the policy that could get gay soldiers kicked out of the army if anyone found out they were gay.”  There, that ought to get the disapproval flowing.

 

“Oh, yeah. That was amazing to hear about. I mean, even Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was better than we had in my day, but being allowed to serve openly and honestly is so much better. I’m just sorry it took so long.”  Tony stifled a sigh.

 

“There you go again. Missing your cue for your lines about the terminal decline of American Civilization.”  Steve snorted and shook his head.

 

“Wasn’t my cue supposed to be something about reality television? Because I’m ready for that one,”  he rejoined. Pepper laughed delightedly.

 

“Well then, here’s to increased tolerance in our armed forces,” she said, raising her glass. Steve joined her, as did Tony, using his glass to hide his face.

 

“So, Cap, any of our boys put the moves on you back in the day?” Tony asked. Pepper slapped his arm. “Ow! What?”

 

“No, and if they had, I still wouldn’t have signed a blue ticket. I just would have talked with them about what was appropriate within a chain of command, and warned them about the intolerant people that might rough them up if they heard.”

 

“So, you didn’t feel that gay soldiers were a threat to the  mission, Steve?” Pepper asked.  Steve looked at her, measuring, and put down his glass.

 

“Well, that would be hypocritical, considering.” Steve looked from Tony to Pepper and back in the sudden loaded silence.

 

“Wait, are you saying you’re gay?” Tony half expected to get yelled at, for Steve to say he hadn’t meant any such thing. Steve just shrugged.

 

“I’m sort of, or bi, I guess?  I mean, I don’t really feel all that attracted to people unless I love them. And...if I do love someone, then I love them, whoever they are.”

 

“So you’re saying that you’re sexually attracted to people with whom you feel a deep emotional connection, regardless of gender?” Pepper asked.  Steve nodded.

 

“But you don’t need to worry. Neither of you.  I’m very used to not acting on it, to not even showing it.”

 

“Did any of your men know? Did Peggy know?” Pepper asked, then waved a hand, negating the question.

“That’s really personal, I won’t be offended if you tell me to mind my own business.” Steve remained quiet for a moment bowed over the table where he’d put his glass, leaning on his hands.

 

“Yeah, Peggy knew, she didn’t care.” he finally revealed quietly. “And Bucky. He’s known since there was anything to know. It didn’t change his friendship though. He’d even share a sleeping bag with me when we had to double up or freeze to death.” He snorted out a little chuckle, still not looking up.

 

“He’d tease me later though, about all the sleep I didn’t get.”

 

“That doesn’t sound very nice,” Pepper protested.

 

“Nah, he had to,” Tony jumped in, “to show it was no big thing.” And Steve looked up at Tony with a grateful smile.

 

“Yeah, what he said,” Steve told Pepper.  “If any of the other guys ever figured it out, they never said. It was hard though, knowing that if some of the brass whose toes we stepped on to get stuff done ever found out, or even suspected, they could send me home. So this is a good day to celebrate.” Tony really should be used to getting his world wobbled by now. He shook his head and poured everyone another glass.

 

“You’re a man of surprises, Capsicle. Let’s get celebrating.”  He’d deal with it later. Come to think of it, that file of feelings to deal with later, was getting awfully full.


	8. It Depends on Your Point of View

Maybe that file full of unexamined feelings was partly to blame for what happened the next month in Pittsburgh. He didn’t make a habit of being in Pittsburgh, but there was the Materials Science and Technology Conference to attend. Stark Industries was, of course, at the forefront of that (had any of these other people created their own element? Tony didn’t think so) but it was good to see what everyone else was up to. It’s just that being on his own at a conference reminded him too much of that other conference, and the fallout from it. Conferences reminded him how big an asshole he could be.

 

It was so easy to drink a little too much when remembering that he’d blown off Yinsen, who hadn’t deserved it, and Killian who had, at a conference like this. He was still not quite sober when he arrived back at the tower. He didn’t feel ready to face Pepper, or worse yet, Captain Perky, so he headed down to the workshop with some ideas about ways to use some carbon nanotubules in a non-Newtonian fluid matrix to make a flexible, impact resistant material for the squishier people on his team. He felt vaguely ashamed about the drinking, worried about what he might have said or done under the influence that would come back to haunt him later, and guilty that he slunk downstairs without greeting Pepper or Steve.

 

He rubbed a hand over his face a few hours later, JARVIS running the numbers on the various viscosity profiles of different fluids, and their interactions with the nano-tubules. Unfortunately, that left Tony with too much time to think.  He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a bottle. He stared at it for a moment, then put it back in the drawer, and closed the drawer. If he didn’t watch this avoidant behavior, he was going to lose Pepper, and he’d have no one to blame but himself.

 

He wandered up from the workshop instead, seeking coffee. It seemed to be morning (so sue him, he lost track) because Steve and Pepper were at the kitchen table, both in workout clothes. Oh, yeah, Pepper had mentioned that Steve had asked her about yoga, and they were going to be doing it together. Evidently, judging by their sweaty states, they’d finished, and were having a post-workout juice together. Steve was leaning in, looking in her eyes, confessing something heartfelt. She was murmuring something back. He looked away, then back with a rueful smile, Said a short phrase. Pepper shook her head, and took his hand in both of hers, and they leaned together to touch foreheads.

 

Tony backed away, and went back down to the workshop. Of course. It was logical. Steve was so much less of a mess than he, Pepper had to be tired of the drama. And Pepper? Any man of sense would fall for her like an iced-up war monger suit. He had just been lucky that there were so few men of sense in the world. He sat at his workbench, staring into space, chewing his lip, and thinking.

 

One thing he absolutely didn’t want, was the gently pitying, ‘we’re sorry Tony, but the heart wants what it wants, let’s all be friends’ talk. Pepper and Steve were classy, they wouldn’t try to blame it on him, even though it was his fault. Pepper was a saint to have put up with him as long as she had. They’d feel terrible, and be kind, and...fuck that.

 

No, if Tony Stark was going to fuck something up, he was going to do it on his terms. Rip off the Band-aid(tm) and set fire to the wound, or something like that. He’d piss them both off and flounce out in the aftermath. He realized, somewhere in all the internal drama, that he might not be thinking too clearly.

 

“JARVIS, have those numbers for me this afternoon, I’m going to go sleep for a bit.”

 

“That’s worryingly sensible of you, sir.”

 

“Give yourself the finger for me, Buddy, I’m too tired.”

 

“Doing that now, sir. I’m thoroughly offending myself.”

“Welcome to my world, J.”

 

Tony, breezed past Steve, who was sketching at the kitchen table, and tried very hard not to see the delighted smile with which he was greeted.

 

“Tony! When did you get back?”

 

“About 8 hours ago, I think. Hope you’ll excuse me, I’ve been down in the shop since, getting some ideas percolating. I’ll talk to you later, after I’ve had some sleep.”

 

“Sure thing, Tony. It’s good to see you. Sleep well.”

 

Tony fell into bed face first, and when he woke up six hours later, his plan was set.


	9. It's all Relative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's where anything resembling smut lies -- and it's just talking about it.

It started with suggesting that he and Pepper have some take out while watching movies this evening, and then oh, so casually suggesting that they invite Cap too, because he hadn’t seen _Star Wars_ yet, and that couldn’t be allowed could it? Pepper raised an eyebrow, and narrowed her eyes at him, but she agreed, and Steve accepted the invitation.

 

Tony looked up from where he was seated in front of a coffee table covered  by food boxes from Chola Eclectic when the elevator opened.

 

“Come in, Cap! Namaste. Have a seat, and pull up a curry.”

 

“Hello, Steve,” Pepper seconded with a smile. “I’m glad you could join us.”

 

“Thank you for having me. Clint says that if I watch this movie with you, a whole lot of your references will suddenly begin to make sense.”

 

“Well, he’s not wrong.” Tony gestured at the empty space on the couch, on the other side of Pepper.  “Come on, take a load off.”

 

Steve came and, with a little blush, sat down next to Pepper, only to stiffen with a puzzled expression.  He reached behind him, between the seat cushion and the seat back, and pulled out a strap-on dildo. He blushed mightily, and shoved it back out of sight, then looked up at Pepper with a guilty expression.

 

“Sorry,”  he mumbled. Pepper, befuddled, could only shook her head, but she turned suspicious eyes on Tony.

 

“Oh, hey. No, I’m sorry,” Tony piped up. “We must have accidentally left that there the last time, I let Pep do me.”

 

“Tony. What are you doing?” Pepper actually sounded a little more amused than angry. Tony looked at Steve, who was looking at him, then at Pepper, with his mouth slightly open, as if the brain-to-mouth function was disabled, or the brain was stuck in a loop, something.

 

Steve finally cleared his throat, but it didn’t seem to help, as his voice came out low and throaty.

 

“Do you wear the shoes?” He asked Pepper. And he didn’t look angry, or disapproving, he looked...incredibly turned on. Pepper cocked her head.

 

“I beg your pardon. The shoes, Steve?”

 

“When you...do _that_ , do you wear the shoes -- the black, strappy heels with the red soles, the ones that say you’re about to make the world roll over and beg by the power of your brains and skill, and look achingly gorgeous doing it. Those shoes.”

 

Oh, wow, could Cap paint a word picture!

 

“No, she doesn’t. I’ve been missing out. I’m hurt, Pepper, why don’t you wear the shoes?”

 

“Because clearly, neither of us is the tactical genius that Captain Rogers is, Tony.” Pepper studied said tactical genius with the narrow eyed expression that said 2+2 was being calculated to 6 decimal places.

 

“You really seem to like the idea." Calculations complete, she pushed the coffee table aside, and pointed at the carpet in front of her. "Come here, Steve.”  

 

“Yes, ma’am.” Without hesitation, Steve dropped from the sofa onto his knees, and placed himself in front of Pepper, head bowed, hands clasped behind his back. The move looked practiced, ingrained. Who, back in the staid forties, had the massive balls to dom Captain fucking America. The penny dropped, holy shit -- Peggy Carter. Tony knew that she was co-director of SHIELD back in the day when few women were working outside the home at all, much less heading up para-military spy organizations. But this? This was truly impressive. Steve Rogers, all his muscle and power, bowed, leashed, held in check by Peggy's will and training, carried forward to respond to the light touch of Pepper’s slender hand, and the force of her personality.

 

“What do you want, Steve?” Pepper asked, lightly stroking his head. “Tell me.”

 

“I want you to use me, to pleasure yourself, to pleasure him.” Steve's voice was utterly wrecked, and hot as hell. Oh gods. Holy shit. Cap wanted to be used like a giant sex toy. Tony squirmed in his corner of the sofa.

 

“You going to share your toys, Pep? I can think of a few things to do with Cap…” Steve slowly turned his head and fixed Tony with a stare. It wasn’t an angry look,  just really intense, and quelling, it pinned him motionless where he sat. Tony’d  seen ones like it in nature documentaries, a silverback gorilla sized up a rival, a wolf zeroed in on prey. Yeah. Cap was willing to be all pliant for Pepper, but Tony had better not even try.

 

“You’re not too good at handling yourself Tony,” Steve answered gently, once Tony had visibly backed down. “You need someone to gentle your touch on yourself, someone to care for you, tell you how amazing you are, and give you all the pleasure you can stand.”  The encounter had gone so far off the expected path that Tony was deeply lost.

 

“You’re not mad?” He looked from Steve to Pepper. “Not going to give up on me, and canoodle each other in the kitchen?” Understanding dawned in Pepper’s face.

 

“You mean like that time that Steve confessed to me how much he’d come to love you, and I reassured him that eventually you’d come to see it, and in the meantime I deeply sympathized?”

 

“Uh...maybe?”

 

“During that conversation we determined that we love each other, yes. Also, that we both love you, and despite your best efforts we still do. So if you have no objections, I’d like to explore using Steve as he desires to be used.”  Objections? Tony kept trying to turn the universe the right way around in his head, but a tipping point had been reached, and facts could no longer be denied, facts that in no way conformed to his old view of the universe. He had a moment of panic. But wait? Hadn't a long established view of the universe been overturned before, and led to glorious things. Maybe he could accept that he wasn't an irrecoverable asshole, and that Pepper and Steve loved him.

 

Steve and Pepper were both looking at him, awaiting his reaction.

 

“Relativity!” Tony burst out.

 

“I’m aware of the concept, just not it’s significance in this context,” Pepper responded, amused.

 

“There was Newton, laws of motion, gravitational attraction, then suddenly there was relativity, and it was so wild, overturned Newton, made a big mess, but in the end led to great things.”

 

“So,” Steve asked, a smile lifting one side of his mouth, even as the other eyebrow lifted in confusion. “Does all that mean, that you don’t object, that you consent?”

 

“Object, fuck no. Consenting yes, that’s me. Totally consenting, but I can’t guarantee the adult part.”

“That’s good enough to be going on with.” Pepper rose.

“You gentlemen finish eating. Bring him to the bedroom in twenty minutes, Steve.”

 

“Yes, Ma’am.” She leaned over and kissed Tony, leaving him breathless. Then leaned farther down to kiss Steve where he remained on his knees, and the sight was hot enough to leave Tony aching, and then she walked away, both men watching as if hypnotized. When she was out of sight, Steve resumed his seat, and picked up a box of chicken tikka masala.

 

“Um, I’m pretty full. Eaten all I can hold. I’m just going to…”

 

“Sit, Tony. The lady said twenty minutes, and twenty minutes it will be.” That was Cap's command voice, the one that carved things in stone. Twenty minutes. Damn it.

 

“The longest twenty minutes ever!” Tony complained.

 

“Well, that’s relativity for you.”


End file.
